To Live For
by ECduwlalredn82392
Summary: Living for one thing is a risky move; living for one person is stupid. Is being alone better? Is acting callous the only way? Thrust into a surreal situation will she find the right kind of person to live for? Who can you trust? A Seth imprints story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is my new fanfiction about Seth imprinting. And I will come through with this one, I felt really bad about abandoning the last one, but I just couldn't keep going. This idea has been with me for a while and I feel really good about it. Please, review, make me feel good and such. Thanks to my Beta Julie, she's going through something right now and I'm glad she took the time to help me. She's a sweetie! I hope you enjoy.**

I shook, my body convulsed and bucked sending my head flipping; sending my body to the ground. The tears dripped into nothingness, mixing with the drops of rain splattered onto my face; sobs never passed the threshold of my lips, never breaking the painful silence of the night. I was finally breaking down; my mind was at last reacting to the terror that had unfolded. Why now, though? The only part of my brain that could have rational thought at this point was fighting to ask the deep questions I needed to answer. Why didn't I do this when she let go of my hand at the hospital? Or at her wake that only I and her Doctors attended? Why not when I saw her body for the last time? I screamed throughout my mind.

Why on a highway in the middle of nowhere?

Why hadn't the times when she couldn't remember me, made these tears come? She was so frail and sad, her mind would leave at the most important times.

_When I was turning seven, I didn't have a party, mostly because I didn't have many friends, but also because we didn't have much money. I got to ask the few friends I had to go to a local family fun park, for Mini Golf, Go-Karts and arcade games; it was the best and worst birthday I had ever had. The day went great, I felt as if I was a real kid; laughing and smiling, just forgetting for the moment that my mom's chorea was coming once a week now or that sitting on her bed, trying to convince her she wasn't dying, was a regular afternoon. It was as if nothing could touch me for those few hours, I was in my own world, where mothers took care of their children, made _them _dinner, tried comforting _them_ in bed; a world where the child was the mothers whole world, not the other way around. _

_And then it was time to eat; I was starving, I had never played so much in my life and I hadn't even remember that I needed to eat; mom was just sitting on a bench staring off at nothing, her eyes were glazed over. I knew that look, she wasn't there, her mind was blank; she was gone. All I could think, though, was, 'Please don't let her ruin today.' _

My body rose then fell; high then low; fast then slow; I was conscious and then in a fluttering dark, back and forth. Did it really need to be my mother? Out of all the people in the world, why had it been my mother that was taken? My best friend, the only person I cared for; the person who did everything she could for me, even in sickness. What did I do to deserve such a price? Why was my mother marked even before birth to die so young? She was only thirty-five.

_But mom never did what she should; her body didn't listen to her mind and she in turn never listen to anyone who told her what to do. She snuck out, she had sex, she drank…she gave birth to me, without a father at hand, she kept me because she loved me and that's why I took care of her. I owed her everything, she ruined her whole life, just for me; she gave up her whole future, a scholarship, a normal life and family and probably a longer life expectancy. Everything about my mother was a contradiction of what I wanted, of what I craved, of what I needed. So I just swallowed the nervous lump in my throat and was about to take a much wanted bite of my pizza, when an employee crouched down in front of me and I could hear her words before they even left her square little mouth. _

"_Why don't I take a picture of you and your mom, huh?" _

The tremors deepened, sending my head into the ground rhythmically; the warm sticky blood was pooling and spreading into the tendrils of my hair. I caught my lip between my teeth and the pain of the unintended bite seared skin, sending pricks to random areas. Everything, the pain, the shaking, the memories got worse; my mind jumped and swirled with over exertion, muddling with my will to do anything. When I built up a new scream, nothing happened; my mouth didn't even open, despite the orders I gave. It was as if the neurons in my brain were just as confused; like they were shaking and mixed up too. Nothing worked; I was losing control of everything; I could barely see and the only feeling I could gather was that of anguish, everything hurt. What was going on? Help me, I'm dying, all alone. I'm dying! Please. Please.

_I was slightly surprised, I hadn't been expecting those words but I declined politely, staring at her shocked face. She thought I was weird, I'd seen the face many times before, like when my mom didn't come to PTA meetings or to see me receive my partial scholarship for Southwestern; but I had also witnessed the look my mother held, many times, and of the two, I could handle the girls. She insisted though, to the point that even as a seven year old, I knew it was rude and intrusive. And just as she was about to imply that my mother abused me, I gave in, crossing my fingers that mom would just sit tight and go along with everything. Wishful thinking was something I never did, but it was my birthday and I hoped that was enough for God, or whoever. I took little deliberate steps, towards my mother's form, her straight, slack jawed body. My heart sped, and my breathing was a low pant, I knew it was coming; it sizzled in the air, just like before a rain storm; impending doom. I placed my hand on her shoulder, the reaction was slower than normal, like some force was pushing against her face, as she turned toward me. _

"_Mom, this lady," I gestured to the employee, "--wants to take a picture of us." Her head tilted to the side, and I just sat next to her and wrapped my arm around her waist; praying the picture would be taken quickly. But before the camera could even be lifted, mom stood, her head twitching and she screamed like a banshee. Her words made no sense, they were a slurred version of speech; her skinny arms flared and she began crumpling into herself, onto the floor. I tripped over to her, and cradled her head in my lap, repeated the words I knew would calm her, while stroking her hair. And when I looked up, all my friends and their mothers were staring at me, at her, at my life and I knew what they were thinking. They shuffled out, looks of horror on the children and disgust on the mothers; the employee ran over and tried pulling me away from my mom, like she would hurt me or something, and told someone else to the call an ambulance. I didn't give in though, she was my mommy, she needed me and I knew if she could, she would be in my shoes in an instant; it wasn't her fault, she didn't ask to be dying. _

"Please," the word was on the cusp of my ending breath, but it was there, hanging in the hair, waiting. For relief, for a savior, for numbness. Anything.

Heat encircled my whole body, sending sparks underneath my muddied skin, into my veins and soaring over my mind. Everything was achingly sharp and I was aware of all that was around me. Sensitive to the whip of wind and the burn of breathing; every twitch of my body set off livewires of anguish into my head; warning me of what was coming, of what was happening in my body at that moment. Warning me of the significant change growing in my being. The body I was cradled against, with its russet skin and fiery aura; was safe, I felt it, tasted it, _knew _it, even in at a time like that. The way the person ran, never breaking stride and not ever jostling me; careful and deliberate.

_I never resented my mother when she was alive, not even after that birthday, when I had no friends, or when I was teased for what she had; not even when we didn't have the money for new clothes or food. When I took care of her, I always did it like I was her and she was me, and she was tending to me; like she was the one mothering __me_. I knew she loved me, and that she wanted me to have everything, that she wanted me to leave and go off to college, she wanted to let go and I wasn't going to. I accepted the partial scholarship only because she was proud and it made her eyes light up at the very idea of me making something of myself. But I couldn't leave, I could never just leave her to fend for herself. Who would talk to her when she had her panic attacks and thought she was going to die? Or when her chorea took over and she fell out of bed? No one, I needed to do it, and as much as she needed me, I needed her too; because who would care about me when she wasn't around? I had only her, no father or grandparents, not even a cousin. But I didn't expect death, I never thought I had to worry about that, I never let the thought climb into my mind, because I knew that once I did, I wouldn't be able to push it back out, I knew it would nestle in every free space of my mind and never leave. So I let myself think that she would live forever, that she could evade death, I drove myself into a false sense of security that I should never had. 

The forest was flashing by like a slow motion picture; every time I blinked it stopped and then started again, repeat. We were beyond speed, the little space in my mind could not even fathom how it was possible to move as quick as we did. Dodging limb after limb, weaving in and out of the puzzling layout of the wood. The pain didn't subside, never leaving me, never numbing; my tendons felt forever clenched and my fingers seemed like they would never release from the claws they were bent into.

And then there were lights; blurry and smudged lights that were close and inviting. The travel slowed down, and steadily approached the flickering gleams. My awareness began to falter, ebbing away. The lids over my eyes felt heavy and I couldn't bear to keep them open; the lights shone dim through the protective skin; I swam in an orangey dissolve. It was a visual vertigo, dancing around in front of my eyes, in a mocking consistency. Then the voices; wonky slow, deep strangled words; they sounded warped, mangled and all together, like the parents from Charlie Brown. There were many, all mashed together; twisting, forming one composition of unverifiable tongue. Close and far, one after another sound being spoken; the same monotone disjointed from my comprehension. It was if there was water piling in my ear, drowning the words before I could process them.

_And when she died that night in the hospital, all I did was stare at her, at the only person who loved me, the only person who gave me purpose. She was so small, so sickly skinny and gaunt; I couldn't even produce one sign of emotion, just standing and watching as my mother took her last breath. The nurses said I was in shock, and all I wanted to do was laugh. Shock? My mother died, I think shock was an understatement, more like total meltdown. But it never showed, hidden in my mind, just wading there, mocking my stupidity and repeating the moment. Telling me that she was never coming back, not giving me any room to pretend she was going to call for me from her bedroom or that I would have to make her dinner that night. No one needed me anymore, I was the one that needed someone now, someone now, I was the one who was helpless; because I could do all the domestic things in the world and I could reassure someone until my heart's content, but I couldn't live without my mom, because she lived for me and I for her; so if she was gone, who was going to kept me alive? _

I felt the arms that held me loosen, tenderly they lowered my body; slowly. Panic darted through me, anxiety, sadness. My safety was floating away; surging off of me in bundles: my mind decided to make a short reappearance.

Putting all the extra strength I had built up into tossing my arms haphazardly around the man's neck; it was awkward and fumbling but I pulled myself up until my lips just barely grazed his earlobe. I was still out of it, nothing was focused and doing any strenuous work just made me faint, but I sighed a slow deliberate sigh, preparing.

_I left after the wake and cremation was done, with only a couple shirts, a laptop and my mother's ashes in my backpack; heading for the one place I had resented for better part of my life. I hitched and walked all the way to the only other place I had ever lived; my mother's home. I wanted to be in a place where my mother had grown, and experience the best part of her life; where the only memories were good ones. I wanted to feel her spirit all around me, I wanted it to claim me, bask in it. I wanted to feel wanted; I didn't want to be alone anymore_.

"Don't leave me." The syllables flew out on my breath; I barely moved my lips.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Alrightttt. It took my wayyy longer than it should have to post this, sorry. But I will have the thrid one up really quick cause I already wrote most of it. But I also have school, something my mother have suddenly taken an interest in, where I'm concerned at leaast. So, yeah. Enjoy. **

Warmth. Heat. Was I sweating? It didn't matter; everything was serene, quiet, peace. It wasn't a dream; it was just blank. Light, warm, calm blank; and that's all I wanted, to have my mind back. I took my will to think for granted, never understanding how it would feel to lose all control and just…break. To have the worst of my life thrown back and forth in my brain like some psychological tennis match. Not even being able to scream out in the pain I was feeling, to be silenced by my own head, never having a chance. And the pain, Christ the pain. It was exactly like slamming your head repeatedly into the ground should feel like; sharp, dull, burning, cool. The worst part, though, the worst thing I had ever experienced, was the loss. It hit that moment like a bullet to the brain, shattering anything in its path and looking to kill. The ice cold blaze of loneliness and empty flooded my every pore, chilling me to the bone and just resonating there; settling in to making sure I never forgot; so that I couldn't ever recover.

Then the unexplainable heat came, pushing everything out; dipping into my skin so that the loss left in droves, swallowing my sadness whole and producing something sweeter in its presence. Being held was like my one life raft in the middle of a sea; I needed it and I could not go on if I were to let go. The heat made everything clear; good and bad, it twisted my stomach and knotted my heart. It was crippling and breathtaking; it was something I couldn't get rid of, even if I wanted to. My safe haven of warm arms and clear thoughts; caresses and russet skin. Nothing had ever been so known to me, never had I ever been so _aware_, of what? That was the fuzzy part, but I knew it and I felt it; and it was the best thing I would ever know.

Sigh.

Wait, what? Who's sighing?

My eyes fluttered, and with that it brought a tumbling ache in my temples; wincing from the bright light bleeding in through an extremely large window, my eyes snapped shut. I groaned and scrunched my face up into a grimace; the back of my head felt as if nails had been hammered into it. Damn, a mark was defiantly formed already. I tried inching my eyes open, hoping to wean them into the light; but the painful shine still blinded me. Instinctively I snuggled my head into my pillow. No. Not a pillow. A person. I was pretty sure I was now sleeping on top of a person. I gave a "to hell" to the light and wrenched my eyes wide. Russet skin, warm soft skin, the skin of the arm that was wrapped about my waist. My breathing hitched, my face a mask of horror, my eyes were basically about to pop out of my sockets. His short hair fell lightly over his lidded eyes; the strands were an onyx color, black with slight undertones of brown highlights. Pouty lips sat together like corresponding puzzle pieces, fitting in the perfect position. I was vaguely aware that my breath was coming out in small, strangled gasps. His face was so familiar, but altogether different. Almost like an improved model, the same concept, but made differently. He was beautiful, stunning, confusing, amazing. He was my raft, the aware and known, he was…light.

Little snores emanated from him chest. I could feel the vibrating crackle. His heat was…God, just hot. Fiery and strong, it brought sweat to the nape of my neck and made my damp clothes even more uncomfortable. He stirred. I ducked then ran a hand through my hair. Not such a great idea on my part; it was clumped together in the back, by dry blood and mud. When I tugged, I received a sensation that can only be described as excruciating. But you know when you're little and you do something and it hurts, so you do it again, for a reason unrenowned to you? Yeah, I did that.

"Please, don't pull on the stitches. It will hurt far more to redo them if you are conscious."

My face whipped in the direction the tinkling voice floated from. She was small, no tiny, in stature, her face angled in a sweet childish way, but everything about her was woman. Her eyes shone knowledge, answers and strain; her clothes fit her in just the right way to give, even her pixie form, curves. She wore a slight, but bright smile and her eyebrow was shot upward. Ivory skin curved all over, hidden by jeans and sleeves; accented by the same. The papery covering lead up to a pitch-black tuft, pushed and spiked into a perfect symphony of hair. She was beauty and beast; satin and sandpaper; living and dead. Wondrous.

Her hand stuck out, and I was snapped from my ogle; I recoiled.

"Oh, it's fine. We just need to speak with you in the dining room." She spoke with such smooth authority. We? How many people were there? And, were they all this…different?

But I stood, because she was stern, even if I did have a full eight inches on her. She could take me; hell, she could take me out with a glance. Disentangling myself from the man's limbs, slowly slipping into release, batting down the feeling of growing anxiety. I missed the summery aura, the safe rays that rolled over my body. The calm.

The little women took my hand, and the sharp contrast in temperatures made me shudder and gasp; but she looked as if I hadn't done anything.

Stepping up and leaning towards me she whispered, "He brought you here, and he never took you out of his arms." And then looked at me expectantly.

He did? He held me? And cared for me? '…Never took you out of his arms,' that's what she said; wow, I was ready to hyperventilate at that moment. Who was I to him? So many questions, and only one attractive man to answer them. Why, why, why. Those could go on for days, and spread out for miles.

Standing above him while he slept made me nervous, like I was watching some private show; something I wasn't ready for. His eyes rapidly moved under his eyelids, and his mouth parted. My throat went dry. But I bent down swiftly; hovering just above his cheek; nervous for a moment. I pressed my lips gently to the corner of his mouth, more on his cheek than his lips and then I pulled away as quick as I could.

Sigh.

I hide the smile on my lips as the girl tugged on my hand. I stumbled, and tripped while she seemed to glide over wood and rug. It was a short trip, but an informative one. Everything was a classically cream white, with darker accents and lighter tints; the staircase curved in the corner and the large window I had seen turned out to be a wall; a wall of glass. What will they think of next?

The girls small cold hand was feather light as she half dragged my through a set of mahogany double doors. And I slammed into her back as she halted a little too abruptly; stepping back, I shook my head on instinct and a whole new round of pain erupted.

A booming laugh sounded off while I winced and bit my lip. "She's just like Bella was. I bet she blushes too." I tilted my eyes to the voice, and my jaw dropped. Seated in the ornate dining chairs were eight more of the most luscious creatures I had ever seen. I couldn't tell who was the most attractive. The blonde tall man, with the wry mouth, or his exact copy of a female, who wore a short pleated skirt showing off legs I could only wish on a star for. Or, the caramel-haired beauty, whom even with an expression of worry on her face was stunning. Or, could it have been the rusty-haired boy sitting to her left, looking interested, but bored; his long fingers intertwined with a young woman who was gorgeous in a modest way. She didn't flaunt it like the blonde, and it didn't emanate off her like the little woman; it was just there.

The man who had spoken took up all of my vision as my eyes landed on him. To say he was big was an understatement. He was monstrous, arms as thick as my head, a chest that puffed out in a comical way and the most disheveled curly black hair, all brought out by his lively face, bright eyes and pinched dimples.

"Hello," this man was handsome in the classical way you imagined every time you read a Jane Austen novel. Angled, but soft in an angelic mixture of perfection. His hair like honey silk, shining teeth barred in a tentative smile. But the most appealing thing about this man, the thing he just about oozed: kindness. The emotion was laced into his skin, painted over his face and thrown at you from his look. It made me relax.

No, that was a little too relaxed.

"Are you feeling well?" asked a smooth voice with a drawl of sorts.

I wanted to answer, I should have, it would have been rude not to. I didn't. I just stared at the man, my eyes seemingly larger, my mouth its ordinary over pout. They must have thought I was mental. I mean, I just _stared._ Stood there and just kept gaping; ridiculous. I did feel slightly better, my head was stitched back together and I could stand without falling over, which is a problem most of the time, not just when I have traumatic episodes. The ache in my calves and the throbbing buried in my head were nothing compared to what I could be. Which was stuck on the side of the highway still bleeding, alone and broken. So, _yes,_ I said in my head, _I feel fine._ Like he would hear me. It was just a justification for being rude. Maybe he would be as intuitive as he was kind.

The bronze haired boy moved his lips fast, like a twitch. His eyes never left my face.

"You can have a seat, if you would like." The blonde man gestured towards the seat at the end of the table, the one I was closest to. The little women gripped my elbow gently and motioned me into the chair, not even waiting for me to answer. Not that I would have. I sat on the edge, my head bowed and my thumbs twiddling. My nerves jumping. Everything was silent while I watched my fingers battle it out, showcasing how nervous I was. I bit my lip, and took a last deep breath. My head lifted.

All the eyes were on me, all different looks of concern, sympathy, sadness and even amusement on the bigger man. "My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen, and this is my family." His arm flourished towards the crowd of lovely faces. _Wow,_ I thought, _where have all the families that look like this been hiding?_

I didn't answer, and the man didn't seem discouraged. "What's your name?"

_Tatum._ Stare. Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot. It was like I didn't know how to talk. I wasn't trying to be rude, or to seem broody, but it was like my body knew I was scared, but my mind didn't. They seemed like nice enough people, and even if they were killers looking to dismember my ample female form, what would not talking do to deter them? Nothing.

The boy's mouth twitched again and this time I _knew_ he was saying something. But what? And who in the name of creamed Christ could hear what he was speaking?

"Alright. Could you at the least tell me where you are from?"

_I would, if I could. _

Silence, met by an exhale of breath.

_Sorry, man._

"Where are your parents?"

The dreaded question filled the air, swirled with it and blew it into my face. My breathing hitched and my mind filled with images of my mother. Alive and dead. Happy and sad. Well and sick. My heart beat faster and bile rose in my throat; my eyes squeezed shut in the pain I felt stab at me. My face consorted into something associated with anguish and sick. A tremor rocked my body. _Mom. Mommy._ That question seemed to be a trigger to a mechanism that I just didn't fair well against. It turned everything in my mind upside down and unraveled all the little pieces of sane I had wrapped tight in my head. The memory that came with Dr. Cullen's words was my undoing, my vice and my own personal hell crammed into one sentence.

Then I remembered. _Mom!_ Her ashes, they were in my backpack, and my backpack was… I stood quickly, pushing the chair back with force enough for it to scrape the ground. I pushed my hand into my hair again, trying to ignore the searing pain that came with it when--

"Your things are in the living room, next to the couch." Rusty-hair spoke. And he stood, as if he were to stop me, as if anyone could have stopped me from finding her.

My eyebrows creased as I glared at him. How did he know what I was going after? He said the exact right words, like he knew what I was worried about. How the hell did he know? My eyes bore into his, and I wanted so bad to ask him how he did it. But I just turned slightly back and fell into my chair once more.

"Forgive me if I upset you; it was not my intention. But, dear, we need to know who you are, if we are going to help you." Dr. Cullen leaned forward towards me, and I didn't flinch back. But I didn't answer and if frustration ever flitted across the doctor's face, it did in that second.

"Are you in trouble? Do you need help with anything at all?" he asked, very close to a plea.

I nodded my head, so very quickly that I don't think my mind even knew what I was doing. I gave him an answer and the smile that it brought to his face, made me want to do it again. He was what a dad should look like. He was how I always imagined mine to act.

"What is the problem?"

I still couldn't speak my replies, nodding seemed the only form of communication I could perform. Yes or no questions were basically my forte at the moment.

The rusty-haired boy, who was seated again, moved his lips once more.

Nothing was said. I wasn't actually paying attention. I was focused on the little girl perched on the lap of the women with the brown hair. She was about the size of a four year old, with round cheeks, that were reddened on the apples. The curls that framed her face were the same color as the bronze-haired boy next to her and her eyes were like melted chocolate. Her smile was made up of small white teeth, and it went higher on one side, almost as a smirk. She lifted her hand, full of delicate long fingers, and waved.

And to the shock of everyone else, I, in turn, lifted my hand and curled my fingers in quickly, returning the gesture. Then I limply let my arm fall and diverted my eyes.

Dr. Cullen took longer to recover then he seemed used to. "Well, ah. I would assume you'd like to get cleaned up?"

I nodded.

"Alright. Alice, Bella." He looked towards the little woman and the girl with the brown hair. "Would you help our guest wash up? Make sure she doesn't get soap onto her stitches, please."

Before I knew what was happening, I was being taken by the hand, and led out of the wood doors, up the winding stairs and into a room. We moved faster then I could fathom, faster then I had ever moved. And it made me remember the loping speeds the russet-skinned man had run with me the night before. _What were these people?_ I pondered.

**Reviews, I live for them.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow, so this chapter took me a while to do, beucase, well because I've never lost anyone and I honestly can't answer some of the questions that come up in here. But I did it, I wrote what I thought was right, and after sitting there and putting myself into Tatum's shoes for about three hours, I'm sure I made a pretty good decision. I hope you enjoy this, seriously. **

**A whole lot of thanks to Starry, for doing an awesome job of Beta-ing, and dealing with my crazy mixed up teenage mind. Also for being over complementing, I'm pretty sure she used the work beautiful twice in describing this chapter, wayyy too nice. Plus the many a time during this chapters process, she helped me iron out some kinks. She good at that. :]**

**Also to Vampirate, Niki; whatever your name is, you are a wonderful person who helped me oodles also. You answered questions I had, and pretty much unknowling helped me out. You are my Best Friend, I promise. ;] lol Biffles fo lyfeeee. **

**And Cristina Munoz, Ice Queen of Genovia, I love you and hate you; seriously you are the worlds biggest bitch, but the sweetest girl also.** **Some weird mixture of demon spawn and a little Spanish girl; it's a nice combo, really. Thank you for taking me places with you, and spending World History trying to figure out a new way for the story to go, you really do help a lot. Cristina, you keep me on my freaking toes and show me for just a few hours a day, how it is to be a selfish, rude and obnoxious bitch. ;] I really do love you. And she is not a CRIPLE! Jyro/Jiro. Jyro/Jiro. Jyro/Jiro. Jyro/Jiro. Jyro/Jiro. **

**I want you to enjoy this chapter. **

**End A/N**

Have you ever had a dream where you wake up and can't move? Where you try and try, but nothing ever happens? Where you are aware of everything, but can't do anything? The one where your mind goes crazy? That's what the first few days at the Cullen's were like, for me at least. I didn't respond to anything; not when they came to check on me, or when I was brought food by the insistent burly man, who had informed me his name was Emmett. When he joked with me, I just sat there; when he smiled in my direction, I just stared. But he was ever the persistent person. He always came back. And I enjoyed his jokes and carefree demur; his talking was sincere and honest. It was refreshing.

But, when the russet-skinned man, or should I say boy, came in to sit with me, there was a difference. I _wanted_ to answer him. I tried with all my might to communicate with him. But it didn't work.

He came to my room everyday, for most of the daylight hours. His name was Seth, which was so familiar it made me mad that I couldn't figure out how I knew this boy. Everything about him pieced an ever-growing puzzle that I didn't think I could figure out. Faithfully, he was there all three days, just sitting and talking…and staring right back at me. I would be lying if I said it didn't make me just a little bit happy, just the smallest bit excited. Not enough to change my mood though, and not enough to make me talk, just enough to feel flattered by his visits. And the things he talked about, they held my attention and took my mind off of the other thoughts I couldn't kick out of my ever-stuffed mind.

The only awkward moment happened on the first day he came to my room. I was just lying there, in all my clothes, sans my shoes, on top of the covers and staring at the grain pattern in the ceiling. Quietly he cracked the door, and by habit I turned my head in the direction of the noise, only to be flustered by what I saw. His hair was hanging in his face, covering one of his milky brown eyes; his mouth was drawn up into a concerned bite, his teeth nibbling the plump bottom lip. He was tall, which was something I hadn't noticed before, extremely tall and lanky, but in an insanely beautiful way, which suited me just fine, since was I going crazy anyway. He was copper and coal, a solid mixture of dark hues; he was something I wanted to draw. He was something I wanted to mold and sketch, to paint and smudge. He was the epitome of the perfect model, and it felt like I was born to make him into art; he was the highest my skill could get.

He fingered his hair nervously and took a step in, gazing into my eyes with a question. I just stared, and when I didn't answer he took that as a 'Yes,' and shut the door behind him. Standing in the center of the carpeted room, halfway to the bed I was occupying, shifting from foot to foot, while I sat up and crossed my legs Indian style. Despite the huge stature, you could feel his shy nature floating around him; the way his foot kept digging a hole in the carpet, or how his eyes darted away then back to my face.

Silence. But it was natural and mutual, like we didn't need to be talking. It was a lovely quiet, one that wasn't filled with horrible memories or remembered words.

Calm.

"Ah, hi." His voice was, in a way, comical. It was that of a teenage boy, soft and smooth. It didn't match him at all, but it suited him just fine. "I'm Seth."

A lapse was formed, no one spoke; he expected me to answer, and I wasn't going to. I felt bad not answering Dr. Cullen or Emmett, I felt terrible ignoring this boy, Seth. His name sent a warning off in my head, telling me something about this mysterious boy.

_Danger Will Robinson._

But he wasn't bad, he was my light and my savior, and there was no way he could hurt me. And yet, even though everything about him was different from the others in the home, I still didn't speak to him. I could not open my mouth and just give him a thank you; I couldn't tell him how much I appreciated what he did for me.

So we held a staring match for a good ten minutes, his eyes light and wide, never breaking the connection with mine. And if what they say is true and the eyes are windows to someone's soul, than he could see all I felt; he would know how he made my mind clear and my heart race. He would see how broken I was, and know that the moment when he picked me up, I was whole and sane. I willed my eyes to tell him that I wanted so bad to be able to draw his face over and over, and just dwell in the idea of his beauty. I wanted him to know me, because I didn't think I would ever be able to speak again and the thought of him getting bored and leaving just about sent me over the edge once more. But the thing I really wanted him to know, was that I knew it was strange to feel attached to someone I had just met, but I was crazy and strange; I wasn't normal and it just seemed poetic for me to only feel sane when I was around him.

His eyes seemed as if they were trying to convey the deepest of Earth's secrets as well, but I just couldn't figure out what. All I got when I gazed into his eyes was a sense of longing and a flutter in my stomach; it felt as if my heart was going to jump out of my chest and run away. So I broke the gaze and looked to my lap.

So after that, he spoke. And spoke; and spoke. He didn't bother stopping to wait for my response; he knew he wouldn't get one. After only one awkward silence he knew me, and how I felt and the ways I worked. I don't know if he kept talking for my benefit or his. If he felt hurt by the silence I let weep into our space or if he didn't want me to feel weird. Which ever it was, as soon as the thoughts hit me, they were washed away with his talk of trivial and important, casual and interesting. Every doubt I had and every negative nerve in my body turned upside down, and warped inside out. Seth made me want to smile and laugh. I felt as if I could run miles in his presence or just mutter a syllable. He let off a vibe of pure positive energy; it engulfed everything near him, including me. He engulfed me. Everything about him surrounded everything about me; battling with the bad that had grown attached to all the fibers of my being.

And for those hours where I sat, listened and fell into true admiration, I found out more. The knowledge that Seth provided, the unheard of truth that I couldn't fathom, couldn't describe, but knew. It spread, coursing through my entire body, telling me everything and nothing, showing me a wonderful answer to an unasked question. It sent thrills into my stomach and heat to my cheeks; it made my mind sharp, and confused. Everything about Seth contradicted itself; he was one beautiful oxymoron. He asked questions and gave answers; he seemed to laugh and cry at once. To smile but frown; he told me everything, but held things back. And he came to see me everyday, but never said why.

Even when he told me the one thing I had dreaded since I spotted his skin and silky hair, I didn't get angry. At the sound of the only other place that I had ever lived, the one place I hated, with the people I had grown up resenting; I didn't get upset. I sat and listen calmly. Seth would speak of the same cliffs mom would hum to herself about during the nights; the way he spoke of them was exactly like her description. It entranced me; it lolled me into memories, bringing the feelings of separation and anguish tumbling in. And taking it all away, crashing over the unbearable thoughts; repeat. When he spoke of our home, my mind was like waves, bad and good swirling together, covering one another.

Seth cooed over the soft powdery beaches, the same place I drew for mom over and over again. The same place she had her first kiss. I could imagine every tree he spoke of, I had sketched every grain of sand he had walked. He had been in the same place my mother had been. He walked her path, and sat on driftwood she had sat on. Seth knew my mother in ways I didn't, and he wasn't even aware of that.

When he laughed over jumping off those cliffs, I saw mom. The only time she had ever jumped, the story she only told me once.

_"It was the best feeling in the world, sweetie." Mom's eye closed, and she exhaled. "Like flying, and dying mixed into one. My skin over sensitized with fear and excitement, goose bumps all over, and then the cold water. It really wakes you up, and shows you how to live."_

_Seeing the wistful look on her face, and the smile, it was something I didn't get to experience often, I never got to hear about Mom's childhood. It was rare that she was that happy, so I just let her keep talking. Urging her to continue; the longer she was happy, the better._

_"Who'd you do it with?" I smiled._

_"My best friend, at the time. We did everything together." There was tightness in my mother's eyes, but she smiled nonetheless, at the memory. Seeing her like this made me happy, it gave me false hope of her getting better. Stupid as it was, I really hoped she would be cured someday. Dreams of a twelve year old…_

_"What was her name?" Mom never spoke of a best friend._

_"Sue. Her name was Sue." The smile faltered. But I didn't pay it enough attention, I was just happy at her acting normal after the week from hell we had had._

_"Have I ever met her?" The thought of meeting someone who had known my mom when she wasn't sick was thrilling to me._

_"Yes. When you were little, you played with her son."_

I choked on my breath and coughed, while my eyes locked with Seth's. He was up within seconds, and over at my side. He hadn't been this close to me since three days earlier, when he saved me and held me while I slept. I could see light shining off of his eyes and the way his lips moved with every breath he took; his hand were calloused, with long fingers. He held them up, as if he wanted to touch me, to caress me. There was a tightened ripple in my chest, Should I let him, or run away. He was _her_ son. He was _that _woman's child. Seth was a part of the family who ruined everything.

I made a sound in my throat.

I ran.

The bathroom was bigger than my old bedroom, it had space, but I just curled up right next to the door and focused on breathing regularly and the sound of his voice.

"Are you alright?" Knock. The dip in his voice matched the one in my stomach, and I knew he was worried. But I couldn't think like that, he was part of_ that_ family; the one that made us leave. The one that killed Mommy.

"Tatum?" What? I never told any of them my name… How'd he know that? I just added it to the list of ever growing weirdness I had encountered in this house. Like the way Emmett would be gone and back far too quickly with my napkins or the way I would wake up in the middle of the night and hear them in full swing. He knew my name. He said it on the tip of his breath, the fingers of release holding on to it, as if he didn't want to speak the word.

_"I did?" That was news to me, I didn't remember much from when we were on the reservation, so having a friend was a big deal. "What was his name?"_

_"Seth. You and him were inseparable; he was always tagging along with you. He would have followed you to the end of the world." Mom chuckled, and shook her head, and then her smile dropped. "Do you want something to eat?"_

_"I can do it, Mommy." I always did it; it was natural._

_"Nonsense. I'll make us a big dinner, okay?" I just nodded, knowing that I would end up cooking the rest of that dinner._

_And I did._

My head banged back into the wall and I cried out in pain, my stitches were still in. But, it felt nice as well, the tiny pain making everything blurry and far; it took away from the mental anguish that flashed across my mind, over and over. But it wasn't the same as Seth, the way his voice melted into my ears, and warmed up all my thoughts; the way his happiness just glided around the air, and sailed through my veins. He was like his own entity, something different from anyone else, like his purpose on this planet was just for me. It was impossible that his intentions and soft voice were for anyone else; there was no way he was made for anyone else.

And even if those thoughts were selfish and vain, I still knew in the back of my mind that it was true. I knew with his eyes, and the cock of his head; with the way he bit his lip while looking at me, and how he just kept coming back. Which were all the reasons why I should have opened that door and just spoke. Said anything, millions of words in the English language and I just needed to pick one.

I didn't.

Because my mother still meant everything to me, and I could still see her face and smell her perfume. And because Sue Clearwater was the thing my mother hated most, and the one thing she missed, next to LaPush. My mother told me stories about how great Sue was, and ones about how Sue changed. As much as I felt for this boy, my savoir, my light and my lost friend, I couldn't do that to my mother.

So I just sat there, continuing to ignore his repeated attempts to coax me out, and trying to get the same feeling of protection and wellness from ramming my head against the wall. But it was painfully different, and I longed to just sit next to Seth, to just feel the blinding happiness that the door between us blocked. I didn't just want him, I needed him, and that was the scariest thing in the world. Because needing him meant I didn't need my mom anymore. And that was the scariest thought, ever.

So I kept smashing my head back into the wall.

______

I woke in a tumble of blankets and sheets. I should have been warm, but I wasn't. My mouth tasted like slimy blood and my throat was dry; plus I could practically feel my hair knotting itself. I shook my head before opening my eyes, and there she sat, the little woman who had introduced herself as Alice two nights prior. She had been back only once, and that was to make me change my clothes.

She was beaming down at me, sitting with her small legs entwined together. She wore a sheer dress with a deep purple floral design, under which were black knitted tights. It clashed with her skin. Damn her for being gorgeous.

Gorgeous made me remember, and made me look. But he wasn't there. There was sun shining through the windows, it was daytime, but Seth wasn't around. My stomach dropped. _But isn't this what I wanted?_ The question echoed in my head. Was it?

"He isn't here. He said that he thought you needed a break. He went home for a bit." He wasn't there to visit. I chased him away. I made him leave, most likely for good. I had wanted this, so why didn't I feel…good?

My face fell.

"Are you feeling better?" Her eyes were one part worried and two parts confused.

I just fucking stared. Idiot.

Nod.

Alice's frail milky face fell slightly, and her lips pursed. "We had to stitch you back up." Her ocher eyes softened, and she fiddled with her hair; it didn't look natural. And then I felt the familiar sting of a freshly stitched head. Great, a new habit. "You were out for a while. Why did you do that?"

Why did I do that? Why did Seth have to have the last name Clearwater? Why did my mother die? Why was I going crazy? Why, why, why? Over and over. Repeated. Never ending. My personal stalker.

I just shrugged.

Alice seemed like she was mad at me for what I did, and genially frustrated, which didn't suit her at all. She huffed out a breath and went on talking without taking another. "You ruined your clothes…again." Smile. I just bit my lip. Was she joking or chastising? My eyebrows creased.

"It doesn't really matter, we'll just get you new ones, okay?" It seemed as if she were oozing excitement from every pore, her eyes wide and her mouth parted.

New clothes? From strangers… I couldn't do that, could I? No. How long was I going to burden these people anyway? They fed me, watched me, let me sleep in one of their rooms and use their utilities. And I hadn't even said one word to them. I really needed to work on my people skills. It was like a Helen Keller version of a Montessori School. It was rude; I was rude.

I was an idiot.

I had so many other, bigger issues and I busted my head over a boy.

Idiot.

Where was I going to live? With who? I didn't have any money, no job…no family. No freaking people skills to speak of. Oh, and no speaking skills, at that. I was screwed, homeless and alone.

Shit.

So I meekly nodded, biding my time, not because I was trying to mooch off of the Cullen's, but because I didn't have anything or anywhere, and if they wanted me or just didn't mind my presence, I would take that. And the light flicked back on inside Alice's eyes. And it was stupid enough, and cute enough, to make me crack the smallest smile known to man. But she noticed, and so did I.

"Do you want to go soon? Or, how about now? It'll make you feel better-"

"Alice, let her breathe. I'm sure she will go shopping with you when she is feeling…better." The tall blonde man was standing in the doorway, smiling shyly, with wary eyes.

Her little mouth set into a pout, and she mock sneered at him. "You take all the fun out of life, Jasper." With that she flounced up and grasped his hand. Still way too fast.

"I try, dear." Brighter smile.

And as they walked out a feeling of calm and carefree washed over me. I practically felt it dripping into my fragmented mind. Swelling piece by piece, filling hole by hole. Like a drug, but free and just as confusing. It made me think Seth was around for just a moment, and wouldn't you know it, the idea made me ecstatic.

Then it was gone, and I wanted to grasp at it and pull it back to me. I wanted to just shove it back into the dark little allies of my brain; to just lock it up and make sure it never left. But in an instant it disappeared, vanished; just leaving me to dwell in my self- pity and remember the mere seconds where the thought of a boy was the best thing in the world. Where it didn't matter that his mother was my equivalent to the Child Catcher, or that she may have possibly been the reason for my mother's death. He was just a boy, who I had a crush on. A girly, extremely overrated crush, on a boy, who seemed to like me back. It was an awesome feeling. Of normalcy, of being sane, and of bliss.

And the fact that I couldn't get away from, no matter how many backstabbing mothers I encountered, was that the bliss wasn't all from the random emotions I just experienced. It wasn't even a little bit from that. It was from Seth, and the thought of him, and the aura of him. It was from the mere thrill I got from his presence. It was from the blanket of well being I got from his voice and undeniable clarity I earned from his touch.

Bliss was another word I added to his broadening list. Bliss among Light, Sane, Known, Aware, Savior and Crush; Bliss among such good. Bliss among Seth.

Bliss was Seth.

And Seth was mine. Or so it seemed, and so I felt. And it was so selfish and stupid and weird, but so right. Trying to push him out of my head the night before, and trying to want him to be gone, was impossible. Because I wanted him so much, and because he wanted me, and because I knew both of those things. Knew it more than anything. More than my mother, and her illness. More than the fact that I could have that illness too, or that I no longer had a family or a home. He over-shadowed all those significant things. He beat them all. His mother couldn't ruin this, nor could her past, present or future intentions.

I lived for my mother, and still did, but with Seth it wasn't just about living; it wasn't just about my whole life surrounding his. Because it was more, it was like jumping off a cliff, _'Like flying, and dying mixed into one.'_ He woke me up, and he was going to show me how to live.

And this was exactly when I knew I was crazy, because I hadn't said one word to this kid, but I loved him, or 'crushed' him, or had my whole world revolving around him. But it didn't worry me, it only meant more time with Seth. Because he could fix me, and he would fix me.

_________

Sleep didn't come easy that night, not that it ever did since her death. I drifted from dream to dream, from happiness to sadness, from Seth to Mom. It was all too easy to give each of them their own category, to make each of them the two halves of me. Past and present, good and bad, happiness and sadness, light and dark.

My dreams showed me what I had and what I wanted. My past with my mother and multiple futures with Seth. One second I was laying on my mom's bed, holding back tears and telling my mom about my Science Fair project while she muttered about her emanate death. The next, I was holding hands with Seth, strolling by the same beaches I knew by descriptive memory.

The first seizure, the first hospital visit, the first time the disease had a name. _Huntington's._ The first kiss, the first time we had sex, our first child; his name. _Sawyer._

When Mom forgot to walk with my at my middle school graduation, and I got mad, even though she had a fit the night before and I knew she would forget. Walking down the aisle to my wedding, looking at nothing but Seth and holding a cold arm looped through mine.

Taking care of Mommy when she couldn't take care of me. Showing her how to write her name when she started to forget the simple things. Swirling the 'S' and dotting the 'I' and then scraping the full paper of mistakes. Living off of Raman Noodle, and crushing up pills when she refused to take them. Doing all the things mothers do, and doing them the best I could, not even realizing that I did them so well so I could pretend. Pretend she did them, and bask in the thought of her imaginary work.

But all that switched. And I was taking care of children, little ones with onyx hair and over pouting lips. Teaching them their names when they started kindergarten, swirling the 'S's' and curving the 'D's'. Hanging up all the little papers it took them to learn. Having big family meals, all three, all together. Crushing up pills for stubborn toddlers who have the flu, mixing it with applesauce and spoon-feeding it to them. Doing everything mothers do, because I needed to and wanted to, because they needed me and wanted me. I was the mother I always wanted.

She died then, not just once, but over and over again. And I didn't just stand there in 'shock,' I screamed and screamed. At her, to her, about her. Because she didn't try hard enough, because she didn't care enough, because I never got to have a childhood. She stole that without meaning to, and I hated her for it. She ruined everything by choosing me, and took away more from me than if she had just given me up. But my mother was selfish and uncaring of other's opinions, and she did what she thought was best. And if I had said it before, I'll say it now: my mother's decisions never worked.

Scene change, dream change. He's crying, sobbing unashamed on the floor by a bed, broken and torn. Just like I am, just like I was. Screaming and screaming, his hands are threaded through his hair and his face is swollen into unrecognizing. And when he stands, pacing to the bed and away, I see what I already know; I see what I won't let myself figure out. Death. I was broken and torn when my Mother died, the person my life revolved around. Why was Seth broken and torn?

He was there when I woke up. Sitting and watching, memorizing and smiling. Humming a mixture of emotions, a concoction just for me, from his blood stream and into the air. Beautiful things happened when I witnessed him, in my body, in my mind, in my world. My mind worked differently with his near, but it was new, with him part of me. No longer just a fuzzy reception, needing close encounter, but a direct link, getting power from a series of entangled wires and complex processes. Him being alive was enough to make me sane, but him being near made everything better than just sane.

Seth was the password to my word bank.

"Hi." It wasn't even a whisper; I let the word ring loud.

**Reviews are like the Cullens, they never get old. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so I went to La Push last weekend and it was the best experience of my life. The place seriously has some weird powers, cause it's basically all I can think about and I have a sense of yearning towards it. I feel as if I just want to run away and go back there. As a product of these feelings and my visit I learned new things about the place that so many of us write from, and I want to incorporate what I have learned into my story**. **To do so, I had to delete the last chapter I wrote and I am going to rewrite it with accurate descriptions and the feel of La Push. Seriously guys, it was the best 24 hours of my life and I cannot wait to return to the beach again, it was pure beauty.**

**If you have actually stuck around for my fail updates, thank you. There are more to come, cause I need to be apart of La Push some how and this is the only way I can think of. **

**-Gabi  
**

His face was masked in shock and his eyes were ready to burst forth from him head. My heart sputtered at the thought that I had just spoken to him, said my very first words and this was his reaction. Crap. I mean it wasn't as if I didn't _know_ that I was acting strange, but I just wasn't expecting _that_ reaction.

He was breathing fast from his mouth and the blank stare was consorting into something else.

Smile.

Seth's lips curved to one side and his teeth barred, while his nose wrinkled up and his head shook. Then his whole body did, shake that is. He was laughing; at me. At the situation and the fact that I had spoke. Maybe he was crazy too… And if that was the case, then we were made for each other. Two peas in a very screwy pod.

With one last huffy sigh of his breath, Seth answered my greeting. "Ahh, umm, hey." Five minutes and three chuckles too late, buddy.

My answering smile was timid, small and shy. I didn't know what else to say, "Hi," pretty much summed up everything I had inside at the moment. Because all I really wanted was for him to know I wasn't mentally unstable, and that I had functioning vocal cords. I hadn't thought much past. "Hi," which sucked, cause I was pretty sure he had thought past it. Seth with his hour long stories of one stretch of beach, or ten minute descriptions of his run over. He had so much conversation up his sleeve that anything was bound to come out of his mouth next.

"So the fact that you can talk, and have just been holding out on me, should make me mad, but I think I'm way too happy to even care right now." Like I said, anything could have come out and it did.

I grimaced and nibbled on my lip for a second. "Sorry?" The word came out stammered, like I hadn't spoken for years, instead of just a few days.

And the smile just came on back to his face, bigger and brighter and unbelievable. Just my speaking brought this unknown emotion shading in all the dark lines Seth had running along his face. He was always so carefree and happy when he was around, I had no idea there was a better version waiting for me, and all I had to do was speak. All I had to do was utter words and his face crinkled and creased into the most beautiful twist of the most beautiful emotions. Smiles and wrinkles made up his face; soft eyes and wide grins. Sparks boiled in his eyes and something else waded there, something I could put my finger on; something big.

And just because I have to ruin moments, and because talking again set off some weird chain reaction of random babble, I had to speak; without thinking. "The pupil of the eye expands as much as 45 percent when a person looks at something pleasing." What. The. Fuck. "…did-did you know that?"

Idiot.

But he didn't answer, and he didn't laugh. He just stared at me, with round eyes that were melting into mine with the intensity of it all. There was a whoosh in my ear and hitch in my heartbeat, because the way he looked at me was so careful, and velvety smooth. It was if I could feel his gaze skimming over my skin as his eyes traveled from my face, and over my arms; past my collarbones. Like silk and velvet trailing over my stomach and on top of my thighs, the gesture chilled my bones and heated my cheeks. Every breath I took reverberated inside my chest and made me aware of the way my hands twitched and how I could feel the air filling my lungs. In, out, in, out. Expand, contract, expand, contract. The way my shoulders stretched and relaxed; repeat. Or how my heart set another beat, raging against my ribcage and hammering in my temple, my wrist and my neck.

His eyes settled back on mine, while my body played it's chaotic symphony. They were searching and they wondered; asking a billion questions in one twinkle. And just as they flicked away, and glued themselves to the wallpaper pattern on the wall, I could have sworn his pupils were dilated.

"No, I didn't know that." Smile, chuckle, twinkle.

I cleared my throat and just waited, for him to speak or leave or just something to happen so I wasn't sitting there like the idiot that I was. _Idiot_, my mind spoke on it's own.

_Yeah, I know._

Silence, and waiting.

His hand jutted out towards me, and the only thing noticeable on his face was his teeth, and the lips that stretched out to frame them. "I'm Seth."

I gaffed. He had told me this already… Did he think I wasn't capable of remembering things?

"Yeah, you mentioned that…"

"I know, I just…y'know? Wanted to do it the right way, with you telling me your name… and shaking my hand." He ducked his head, and looked at me from behind his incredibly long boy lashes. His hand was still in the same place, and I could see it twitch slightly.

And then mine was being cupped by his. Swallowed was more like it. His hand was about three times the size of mine, and four shades darker. We contrasted in a way that was attractive; cream and rust. Together we made the perfect painting, complementary colors, bring out the beauty in each other. We were brighter next to one another.

"Tatum." With that I squeezed his palm and pulled away. It was too much to just touch him, and it wasn't enough, I wanted _other _things. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and feel his hands on the small of my back. I imagined his hair tickling my forehead and cheeks as his face came closer to mine; I could practically feel his plush lips pushing onto mine…

I felt a slight shock as his finger tips grazed mine, and my body jumped.

"Pretty."

_What..?_

"Huh?!" Did he… Does he mean… Oh sweet baby Jesus…

"Your name, it's pretty." Oh.

Idiot.

"Oh, uhh, thanks. You too." _Really? Did I really say… fuck._

He just let out a laugh, and slipped his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. Another silent moment came and went, while we both appreciated the interior design of the guest room. _Monet,_ I thought slowly, _nice. _I always appreciated the way his work captured the moment, plain and simple and at the same time it made your head tilt, with thought and wonder.

"Are you okay now?"

His voice drove me out of my inspection and made my head snap. He was asking if I was okay, if I was better. Was I? Yes. No.

"Slightly." My voice was timid, cause that all I had for the time being.

He just nodded, like I had asked a question, so I nodded back. And I prayed to whatever higher being there was out there that he didn't ask the questions that usually followed, "Are you okay?" The ones that made my body hurt, and sent the memories flaring through my mind. The questions that involved my mom, and her death; that involved Huntington's or Sue Clearwater.

"That's good." And then he smirked, and I… well I went insane.

My arms were around his upper arms in an instant, before I could actually stop myself. I didn't actually reach the top of him, and I didn't mind at all, because he _knew._ He knew not to ask, he knew it would hurt and he didn't want to hurt me. He _cared._ And in my hug wasn't just thanks for _knowing_, but for helping me. For being my Savoir and my Light; for coming back, even when he shouldn't have.

I clung to him because I could now, because he made everything feel alright; he made _me _feel alright. So I wrapped my arms tighter and gripped my hands together harder. And then his arms were around me, so long that they went around once and he was able to grip my sides. It wasn't awkward, or scary, it was like melting. Like just letting everything go, without caring about what came next. I felt like anything was possible. And in his arms, that was the truth.

"Seth, Carlisle- whoa. Sorry" Emmett came hurtling through the door, all smiles and winks. "Uhh, Seth, Carlisle wanted to see you and…" He just pointed towards me.

Seth jerked away, and wiped his palms on his shorts. My arms just fell to my sides, and I glanced up at Emmett. Smile. Wink.

"You seem better." Statement.

My teeth gritted, and I spoke so light that _I_ could barely hear it. "Yeah."

"Excellent. I'll see you down stairs." And he was out the door, way too fast.

I caught my lip between my teeth and bowed my head. Hoping Seth would forget I was there, and go downstairs without me, so I wouldn't have to speak to anyone else. It was different with him, and tolerable trying to spit a word out to Emmett, but other people. _More_ people, well, that seemed impossible. Even if Carlisle was the kind man, the one came to check on me everyday, even when I wouldn't answer his questions. The Doctor that kept my stitches clean, and listened to my breathing on every visit.

"There's a bonfire, tonight, where I live." My face tilted up towards his voice, and he didn't look so smooth anymore. His cheeks were tinted a slightly darker color than the rest of him, and his bottom lip was being gnawed on vigorously. "I was…umm. Ahem, going to skip it but… Now I want to know if you, y'know…" He shoved one of his hands in his hair and groaned, musing the locks.

I just stood there with my eyebrow raised and waiting for the sentence to be finished. He just looked down at me and sighed.

"Do you want to go? With me…tonight?"

And my staring tactics came back, because what Seth Clearwater said in that moment _did not_ happen. He couldn't have asked me _out._ Like…like on a _date._ Defiantly not, he wouldn't ask me out…would he?

His eyes were delving into mine, and it wasn't uncomfortable. "Sure." The word just blew out on it's own accord, like my mind couldn't take the stream of, 'What If's,' anymore, and took action.

The look of utter excitement wielded in Seth's face made the answer all the more better, it helped secure it. "Really?"

I just nodded.

"Great…" He breathed. "Come on, we better go downstairs." He held out his hand. It took me two seconds of shock to slide mine into his, and be enveloped by something warm, something flickering; flitting around the edge of something greater. Something…beautiful.

And I walked out the door of my guest bedroom. A thing I hadn't even thought of, an activity that never crossed my mind. I just want to stay wrapped up in the Egyptian Cotton sheets, trying to forget and waiting for Seth to come. All my days at the Cullen's were just excuses for living, they were fillers for a life I didn't want to have. A live without my mom, a life were I didn't get her smile.

So as I grasped Seth's hand in my own, so tight I don't know how he wasn't hurting, I just let my eyes wander. They fell on the perfect shade of cream on the walls, and there were only three paintings hung, not wanting to be cluttered, I supposed. How the huge window didn't stop because of the separate floors, it kept going. Or the way the carpet crunched under my steps and swooshed under Seth's shuffle. It was amazing, like no house I had ever seen before. I had slept in such a grand place and I hadn't even appreciated it.

Idiot.

My fingers glided over the polished wood of the staircase railing, slipping into a grasp while I struggled down the carpeted steps. I was secure, Seth on one side, ,y hand trapped safely in his; the railing in the other, keeping me upright. Keeping me calm as I descended, as I walked out to attempt the small feat I didn't think I was ready to do.

I needed to talk to Carlisle, I had to at least thank him. Tell him I appreciated the way he asked before he began his examination, or how he would always be smiling, making little quips and laughing. Maybe tell told him that I appreciated the room, and the food he provided. But the prospect of having a conversation with anyone but Seth…it just sent a ringing through my ears and made my head light. I just wasn't comfortable with the idea, and I could put my finger on _why_, it just _was._

So as my feet left the last step, and my lip trembled between my teeth; my hand sweating in Seth overly warm palm, my heart hammering with nerves, the last thing I expected happened.

There was a small flash, it blew my hair around my face and sent a dizzy spell at me. A childish high pitched giggle rang out; Seth stopped abruptly and I did in turn. My head craned to look at his face, wondering what had just occurred. His lips were set, and his eyes narrowed, the line of his jaw tightened. The ear splitting scream that echoed off the creamy wall sent ice down my back and made my breathe catch; it was followed by a voice I wasn't used to. It was soft, even at the tone it was using. A tone that wasn't even possible.

"I'll kill you Jacob Black, I swear I will! Emmett, don't hold me back!" It was shrill and liquid. Like the whistle of the wind. There was a pause in the seething, and I could feel Seth hold his breath. His hand tightened.

"Nessie only did it because he encourages her! It's his fault that mongrel, I am so sick of this! Can't Edward and Bella put their foot down on this creepy infatuation Fido has with their daughter?!" There was a shatter, and sound you hear when cars crash. Which was all washed down and followed by a cynical, sarcastic chuckle, it seemed to be built from long practice. Down pat to the huff in the beginning and ending scoff.

"Why do _I_ have to deal with that burden? Why does _she_ even need to stay here? Have her stay with _her_ dog!" There was another silence, but Seth just gritted his teeth and held my hand still tighter. "That's all we need, another mutt hanging around her, pining like an idiot. …I don't care if they can hear me, Emmett!"

Another crash and quick deliberate steps. And suddenly there was beauty in my graces, and my eyes widened. I froze, my hand went limp in Seth's. The look on her face was pure hatred and disgust. Piercing.

Sneer. Glare.

And she was gone.


End file.
